


Let it Come Down Crashin'

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Very shortly post-S13-battle. Simmons never wants to let Grif out of his sight again.





	

Against all odds they were all alive when the dust settled.

Sarge and Donut limped forward. Donut was supporting Doc, who had a shot to the leg. Lopez was putting himself back together, muttering in Spanish.

“I think I won the game!” Caboose said enthusiastically, as he helped Tucker up.

“Congratulations, Captain Caboose,” Freckles intoned.

Tucker immediately started arguing. “Hold on, that’s bullshit. I’m the one with the super-suit.”

“It wasn’t that great! It stopped working halfway through the first battle!” Simmons waited for Grif to back him up, but his support didn’t come. 

Wait a second. 

Simmons took inventory of everyone again. “Where’s Grif?”

He hadn’t seen him since the second wave of pirates right before the room had half-collapsed… “Oh my god, Grif!”

Running for the rubble, it didn’t take him long to spot dusty orange power armor under a section of ceiling. He’d been crushed – Pinned. He was fine. Probably.

“Help!” Simmons scrabbled at it uselessly, even in armor he couldn’t lift it alone. Lopez groaned, but he made his way over to help Simmons lift the pieces off while the rest of the wounded Reds and Blues watched. Why weren’t they helping??

With one more grunt, Lopez had the slab off of the still body and Simmons threw himself to his knees. “Grif! Grif?”

Grif didn’t move where he was laying as Simmons shoved the last of the metal sheeting and tile off of him and wiped the dust from his visor.

Simmons fumbled with the seals on his helmet, ignoring Doc’s protest that it wasn’t a good idea to move him at all.

Oh God, was he dead? His eyes were closed. Simmons was going to throw up. How long had he been—

Grif stirred, eyes opening to slits, coughing a little. “What happened…?”

With Donut’s assistance, Doc was able to make it over and ran his medical scanner over Grif’s body. “No internal injuries! And he’s negative for pregnancy!”

“I can’t believe you were taking a nap during the big boss battle,” Simmons choked out, throwing his own helmet to the side.

“Wha..?”

Grasping Grif by the shoulders, Simmons kissed him hard.

“Mf—”

Before Simmons had time to realize he’d had a temporary break of sanity, Grif was kissing him back.

Simmons’ artificial heart started going triple-time as he cradled Grif’s head. When Simmons finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Grif’s, who still looked sort of dazed. He never wanted to let him out of his sight again.

“Marry me,” Grif drawled with a half-drunk smirk.

That worked. Simmons didn’t even have to think about it. “Okay.” His eyes were only a little damp. It was the dust. The ship was probably full of asbestos.

“Uh...” Doc interrupted. “Probably still not a great idea to move him, guys. I didn’t say he didn’t have any _external_ injuries. He has several contusions, and I think this green means a concussion!”

Both of them flipped Doc off, causing O’Malley to go into a brief tirade about the customer’s-always-right attitude of patients being the death of modern medicine.

“I think it’s time for a shotgun wedding!” Sarge said, cocking said shotgun.

O’Malley slipped back to Doc. “Why would you need to have a shotgun wedding? I just said no one was pregnant.”

“What does that have to do with my shotgun being at the wedding?”

Grif pulled Simmons’ attention back to him with a weak squeeze of his arm. “Elope to Vegas Quadrant?”

“Vegas Quadrant,” Simmons agreed.   
  



End file.
